His keel is the emblem of his
conscience, till it be split he never repents, then no farther than the
land allows him, and his language is a new confusion, and all his
thoughts new nations. His body and his ship are both one burden, nor is
it known who stows most wine or rolls most; only the ship is guided, he
has no stern. A barnacle and he are bred together, both of one nature,
and it is feared one reason. Upon any but a wooden horse he cannot ride,
and if the wind blow against him he dare not. He swerves up to his seat
as to a sail-yard, and cannot sit unless he bear a flagstaff. If ever he
be broken to the saddle, it is but a voyage still, for he mistakes the
bridle for a bowline, and is ever turning his horse-tail. He can pray,
but it is by rote, not faith, and when he would he dares not, for his
brackish belief hath made that ominous. A rock or a quicksand plucks him
before he be ripe, else he is gathered to his friends at Wapping.
A SOLDIER
Is the husbandman of valour; his sword is his plough, which honour and
_aqua vita_, two fiery-metalled jades, are ever drawing. A younger
brother best becomes arms, an elder the thanks for them. Every heat
makes him a harvest, and discontents abroad are his sowers. He is
actively his prince's, but passively his anger's servant. He is often a
desirer of learning, which once arrived at, proves his strongest armour.
He is a lover at all points, and a true defender of the faith of women.
More wealth than makes him seem a handsome foe, lightly he covets not,
less is below him.
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